


end of december

by south_like_sherman



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Christmas Shopping, Christmas Special, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, No Angst, all fluff, basically all Christmas, like at all, my bad - Freeform, sorry - Freeform, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 16:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8999110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/south_like_sherman/pseuds/south_like_sherman
Summary: "This apartment was not familiar at all, bearing almost no resemblance to the plain, simple flat he'd left mere hours before. Tinsel was draped over every possible surface, the table, the lights, pinned to the ceiling (though John was pretty sure that was just there by accident), fairy lights glittering as they twined around the legs of chairs, the edges of furniture, lamps, and for some odd reason, the kettle. Right in the middle of this mess of tinsel and lights, was a tree- actually, John wasn't sure he was quite justified in calling it a tree anymore. It looked as though someone had attacked with an army of vengeful elves, lopsided glitter and uneven baubles scattered across the branches, lights strung at seemingly random intervals, leaving it an awkward mountain of festive cheer."The fuck," John breathed, his eyes darting around the changed apartment, as though he wasn't quite sure what to think."Merry Christmas, John."orJohn's never really liked Christmas so Alex decides to surprise him because he's like the best boyfriend and it's all fluffplease bear in mind I wrote this at like 3am in the car and have done next to no editing so it's pretty shitty





	

John had never particularly liked Christmas. Yeah, it sounds awful- but he wasn't exactly a grinch, who just hated fun and family and festive cheer, and all that Christmassy shit- he'd just never had a Christmas like that. To him, Christmas meant dressing up in fancy ties and scratchy suits, sitting in church for an hour, maybe two (although it seemed more like a lifetime), and then going back to his family's obnoxiously large house (well, more of a mansion if he was being honest) to wait in silence while his white, conservative, homophobic relatives glared at him ( _"He's a strange one, isn't he- Henry's boy, yes, the one the long hair-"_ ). Overall, it was not an enjoyable affair.

Last Christmas was possibly the worst though. Well, the worst and best- after all, it was probably the last Christmas John would be spending with his family (was he still allowed to call them that? John wasn't entirely sure- he had yet to work out the exact rules of being disowned), which might have been a good thing, although it certainly didn't feel that way at the time ( _fuck_ , of course it didn't feel like a good thing- a broken nose almost never does).

So, all in all, John wasn't feeling particularly festive this year, especially considering the state of his and Alex's flat- which, in all honesty, looked like it was still frozen somewhere in mid-July.

December 24th had been a long day for John, with everyone around him preparing to celebrate with friends, family, lovers, and garlands hung in huge swathes across any possible surface, random Christmas trees dotted about the mall and everyone, fucking everyone, telling him to have a 'Merry Christmas'. In fact, when he'd been bagging his purchase and the smiling, Santa-hat-wearing cashier had wished him that, he'd just smiled bitterly and replied with a slightly snide 'Merry end-of-December!', at which point the cashier had probably decided to give him the finger when his back was turned.

So when John arrived back at the apartment, he was not in the most amicable of moods. It had started snowing on the walk back, thick flakes settling on his hair and melting where they landed, sending icy shivers down his spine, and his hoody and jeans were covered with the stuff; it was fucking everywhere, caught his hair, settling in his shoes, soaking through his socks. They didn't have this in South Carolina- in fact, he'd resorted to keeping the bag tucked under his shirt, just so it didn't get ruined. Although it earned him some odd (and slightly judgmental) looks on the street, it was better than the alternative.

John cursed under his breath as he fumbled with the keys, leaning his hip against one side of the doorframe in an attempt to stop the bag from slipping out, his fingers numb and clumsy with the cold ( _so fucking cold_ ). Eventually, somehow (he wasn't quite sure the exact technique he'd used), he managed to force the door open, letting it swing wide and bang into the opposite wall as he spilled into the apartment in a tangle of limbs and snow.  He picked himself up wearily, using the nearby table as leverage to drag himself up. Groaning, he dropped the keys into the small ceramic bowl on the table, surveying the familiar- wait, no. Not familiar.

This apartment was not familiar at all, bearing almost no resemblance to the plain, simple flat he'd left mere hours before. Tinsel was draped over every possible surface, the table, the lights, pinned to the _ceiling_ (though John was pretty sure that was just there by accident), fairy lights glittering as they twined around the legs of chairs, the edges of furniture, lamps, and for some odd reason, the kettle. Right in the middle of this mess of tinsel and lights, was a tree- actually, John wasn't sure he was quite justified in calling it a tree anymore. It looked as though someone had attacked with an army of vengeful elves, lopsided glitter and uneven baubles scattered across the branches, lights strung at seemingly random intervals, leaving it an awkward mountain of festive cheer.

"The fuck," John breathed, his eyes darting around the changed apartment, as though he wasn't quite sure what to think.

"Merry Christmas, John."

John flicked his eyes over to the source of the voice, to see him sitting on the table with a pleased smirk playing around his finely carved features. He swung his legs back and forth like an overexcited child, wobbling the table and almost disrupting the precariously balanced Santa hat perched in his head.

"You. . . did all of this- for me?"

"Well, yeah who else do you think is coming over?" Alex hopped off of the table, letting his smirk split into a wide grin. "What do you think? Is it not beautiful?"

A small divot appeared in John's forehead as he glanced around the apartment again, not sure what to say. "It looks like Rudolf threw up in here."

Alex snorted, like he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "Shut up, it's fabulous and you know it."

John laughed, still slightly breathless from the cold outside air- or maybe just the shock of finding out Alex had possibly enlisted Santa's help in decorating the apartment. "You're right, I'm sorry. It's great- you're great."

"I know I'm great," Alex grinned, his voice containing that obnoxious edge that John knew so well.

"Oh! I almost forgot, hang on-"  Alex turned sharply, twisting his head away as he fumbled underneath the table for something (what exactly, John wasn't quite sure). When he found it, he let out a short cry of triumph, pulling out a small, clumsily wrapped box.

"I, uh, got you a present," he grinned sheepishly, pressing it into John's limp arms. "I know you probably didn't get me anything, 'cause you didn't know, but it's ok, I don't want anything."

Alex bit his lip as glanced up at John, eyes wide and shining, looking at him as he always did- like he hung the moon and stars every night, as though John were all he ever wanted, as though he could never imagine wanting anything else. Something cracked inside of John right there, as he looked down at the hastily wrapped box in his hands, then back to Alex- _Alex_.

_The bag John, the fucking bag, get your head out of the clouds._

Right, the bag. John blinked sharply, setting the box back down on the table again, much to Alex's distress, his face falling, cracking.

"Sorry, if you don't want it, I- I can return it or something-" Alex's words stumbled, tripping from his lips hastily as though he couldn't get them out fast enough, his brow crumpling like tissue paper.

"No! Alex, no, nothing like that. It's just, uh, I actually did get you something." John reassured Alex hastily, shaking out his hoody, attempting to dislodge the bag he'd stuffed there earlier in an attempt keep it safe, mumbling under his breath. He grinned as it finally fell out, fumbling in an attempt to try and catch it before it hit the floor.

"Uh, here." He presented the bag proudly to Alex, hoping the damp spots weren't as noticeable as they appeared to his own eyes, attempting to smooth out the crumpled brown paper.

Alex's face softened as he took the gift, sharp lines and angles seeming to smooth over as he glanced back up at John, setting it on the table next to where John had put his earlier.

"John- thank you. I don't know what to say."

"Then don't." John's mouth curved upwards slightly in a smile as Alex's lips parted slightly, glistening in the half light. John swallowed hard, digging his nails into his palms in an attempt to keep himself from tackling Alex, right then and there. God, it would be so easy just to kiss him, kiss him until their lips were bruised and their cheeks flushed, until their hair was a dishevelled mess, until John's lips were too numb and swollen to speak.

John stepped forward. Licked his lips. "Kiss me."

Alex surged up, as though he couldn't he couldn't hold himself back any longer, as though if he didn't he'd simply melt away, as though he _were_ melting and John was the only thing keeping him solid. Sometimes, John thought he only lived for times like these, when Alex kissed him like he was running out of air, like he was drowning and John was the only oxygen he had left, like John was the only _thing_ he had left, like he never wanted to be anywhere else.

"Love you," John mumbled, pressing the words into Alex's lips, like they might fade away if he didn't say them right then, right there, right now.

"Love you too." Alex pulled just few inches (a few inches too many), his voice breathless, almost delirious as he dropped a kiss onto the arch John's cheek. "Merry Christmas, John."

Maybe John was foolish to hope, maybe he was naive and immature, maybe nothing would ever change (maybe it could _never_ change)- but maybe, _maybe_ , this Christmas would be different.

**Author's Note:**

> so rn I'm at my conservative, Trump supporting, homophobic relatives house, hiding for as long as I can h e l p m e  
> how's your christmas going  
> i am currently de-kitting myself of gay pride (i'm not even kidding like my entire outfit is gay pride)  
> also y'all can find me on tumblr @the-girl-who-cried-ship again i have too many followers who are porn blogs for my taste  
> thanks for taking the time to read this! have a great christmas!
> 
> ~ Kinzie


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